By Your Lights
by gingerchangeling
Summary: Killian Jones, desperate to get tenure and earns extra income on the side using his interior design degree, somehow gets roped into acting as Santa this Christmas and listen to all the earnest wishes of the children of Storybrooke. But after one boy makes a quiet and selfless wish, Killian might find out that Christmas miracles can happen- if someone tries hard enough to make them.
1. Chapter 1

"Dave, I swear by all the gods, if you do not stop humming that bleeding song, I will not be held responsible for my actions, bloody fur suit or no."

Killian's bitter muttering was soundly ignored by David as the man continued to straighten up the area, making sure the candy canes and holly were all arranged just so. All while humming yet another off key rendition of "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree."

Killian had swung back his foot to deliver a well deserved blow to David's shins when he heard, "Oh good you are both here!"

The reason for his being here seemed to have finally arrived. And he was still trying to wrap his head around how he'd been talked into being here. After finding excuses to not do this for the last _four years,_ he somehow got suckered in.

But as Mary Margaret practically floated around the corner in an adorable elf outfit and sparkles on her cheeks, he couldn't find it in himself to mind too much. She hurried up to him with a beaming smile, "Thank you so much for helping us Killian!"

Then she threw her arms around him in her usual attack hug style. For such a tiny woman, her hugs always seemed to engulf him, and he gave her a tight squeeze in return as the warm sensation of home that Mary Margaret seemed to carry around settled over him.

Just like it had from the very beginning.

_Killian gestured to the bartender for another round, doing his best to keep his mind occupied by the game of footie that was flickering on the giant flatscreen on the far wall of the bar. But as he watched the players throw themselves around the pitch, his mind would wander back to games of his past and the bitter taste he'd been trying to wash out all night would come back with a vengeance._

_Another year gone without his brother. _

_As if on cue, another glass of rum appeared in front of him. And he must have looked a pretty pathetic sight, because it seemed the bartender had poured him a double without his having to ask for it._

_"Cheers mate," he managed to cough out, before he grabbed the glass and tossed back half its contents, licking at his teeth as the rum went down. He waited for the burn to hit, but it appeared he was past that point in his evening. He needed to take himself back to his flat to continue drinking, because trying to get to the point of inebriation he was looking for would take too large a chunk out of his wallet._

_He tossed back the second portion of his glass and went to pull his wallet from his back pocket when he was stopped by a voice. _

_"You look like you could unload a bit." He looked up to see that the bartender was standing in front of him, a sympathetic look on his face. _

_Killian sneered at him, "I'm just fine, mate. I'm paying for rum, not therapy." _

_But the bartender just raised his eyebrow, not dissuaded. "I'll tell you what- if you stay and drink here, I won't charge you for it."_

_Killian blinked, the lag in his thoughts trying to comprehend that sentiment. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, "Why the bloody hell would you do that?"_

_The bartender gave him an easy smile, "Well, if I had to take a guess, you are probably gonna leave here to go back to whatever little cave you inhabit, find the bottle of rum that I'm certain you have, and drink yourself into a stupor alone in the dark."_

_Killian sputtered as he tried to find the words to express his indignation, but the man just continued speaking, completely ignoring his half formed, slightly slurred attempts at a rebuttal._

_"Hey, I'm not passing judgement. But you are still getting your booze, here or there. And you are already here, so …. may as well just stay right?"_

_Killian was still trying to wrap his mind around the horrible, albeit accurate, description of himself, when another glass of rum somehow magically appeared before him._

_"May as well just stay, right?" The bartender repeated, and when Killian looked up at the man, there was a softness around his blue eyes that somehow worked its way around his bitterness and he found himself reaching for the glass. It almost reminded him of how Liam would look at him when he was being particularly stubborn._

_"Aye, may as well."_

_Hours passed, and while the man never reneged on his promise, Killian's access to the next shot was regulated enough that as the night approached one in the morning, the appeal of continuing to drink started to fade as the stupor of drunkenness shifted from coveted detachment to nauseating vertigo._

_So when the bartender next passed by, he waved a hand. _

_"Another?" the man asked with disbelief._

_Killian shook his head, then groaned, dropping his forehead to the bar top, "Just some water for me this time mate."_

_He didn't raise his head until he heard the click of another glass being placed before him. When he looked up, the bartender was still standing there, watching as he reached out and tossed back the whole glass, feeling the liquid wash the now cloying taste of a night of rum out of his mouth. When he dropped the glass back to the bar top, the tender immediately had a pitcher refilling it with ice cold water._

_"Want to talk about it yet?"_

_He tried to glare at the man but seemed unable to muster enough irritation to convincingly pass off the expression. The rum had settled in his blood, and something like grudging appreciation has settled in his gut, and before he could really catch himself, he told the bartender._

_"My brother died eight years ago today."_

_The man's expression didn't change too much, but Killian thought he might have detected a sort soft understanding. But when he sucked in a breath to respond, Killian grit his teeth, bracing himself for the false sympathy and unwanted pity. _

_"He's lucky." _

_It was so unexpected, he couldn't even lash out correctly at such an absurd notion, only getting out a sharp and inelegant, "Come again?"_

_The man nodded, leaning forward against the bar, "Yeah. He was a lucky man. He got to live his whole life with someone who loved him as much as you do."_

_The tirade Killian had been about to unleash died in his throat as the bartender's words registered. And like the last crack in the dyke, he could not keep the flood of sorrow at bay any longer. Tears began leaking out as he dropped his face to his hand, trying his best to stifle his sobs._

_As he slowly regained control of himself, something in his chest felt different. A strange sort of calm had settled over his heart and as he took each rattling breath, it was like he could breathe air all the way to the bottom of his lungs again. It was only after he had taken several such breaths that he realized that the bar was quiet. _

_He gathered himself and raised his head to look around and sure enough, the place was empty, the chairs were up, and the music was off. The bartender was sitting at one of the booths, looking down at his phone as he tapped something out. He seemed to notice that Killian had composed himself though, because he looked up from his screen a moment later._

_"About ready to go then?" There was no impatience or sarcasm in his voice._

_He nodded. The man gave a nod of his own as well before he slid out from the booth. Killian wasn't sure what to say to the man, beyond grateful for the nonabrasive companionship that he'd freely offered. He was again reminded of his brother as the man stood, exuding a sense of control and steadiness that made him feel anchored._

_The silence stretched into the edges of awkwardness, and he did the only thing he could think of to break it._

_"Erm… Killian Jones," he mumbled, offering his hand to the other man. The bartender took it easily._

_"David Nolan."_

_"Nice to meet you David."_

_He nodded and then continued, "Are you going to head home now?"_

_Killian rubbed at the bridge of his nose, feeling the effects of both his drunken evening and his apparently much needed breakdown. "Aye. The walk down to the harbor will help sober me up as well."_

_"You live by the harbor?" David's voice was disbelieving. _

_"Aye, what of it?" sighed Killian, feeling the start of a violent pounding behind his eyes. between the tears and the alcohol, he was going to have a nasty hangover when he woke up. _

_David eyed him for a moment, "Well my wife is coming to pick me up, and we would be happy to drop you off on our way."_

_"Your wife is coming to get you?" He couldn't help the slight mocking in his tone. _

_David gave him a look of mild reproach. "Yeah. It was girl's night at Ashley's, who happens to be the fiance to the town mechanic, who had the cruiser in for repairs the last couple days. So Mary Margaret is bringing it home for me."_

_Killian didn't catch that much beyond, "Cruiser?"_

_David gave him an amused grin, "Oh sorry, I forgot to mention. I'm David Nolan, sheriff of Storybrooke."_

_"What the bloody hell are you doing tending bar then?" Killian sputtered. It occurred to him that far from being altruistic, David's actions in the bar may have been entirely self serving. Keep the drunkard where he could see him._

_David chuckled, "My part time deputy usually works here a couple nights a week, but he came down with a bad cold. They didn't have anyone else to fill in, and he knew that I had bartended in college, so he hit me up and begged me to cover his shift. So here I am."_

_Killian nodded in bemusement, not really sure how else he could react. He was saved trying to find something further to say when headlights swung into the parking lot. He squinted as he took in the black and white paint, the faded lettering proclaiming it to be _Storybrooke Sheriff.

_The moment the engine cut out, the door opened and a small woman popped out of the driver's side. "Hi dear!"_

_"Hi honey." _

_Killian could hear the absolute adoration in both their voices and had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. _

_He was caught off guard yet again when the woman turned to him, a beaming smile settled on her lips, an expression so genuine that he found himself giving a tentative smile back. "Hi! I'm Mary Margaret. You are?"_

_He cleared his throat, trying to take in her sparkling exuberance, especially given the fact that it was nearing two in the morning. "Er, Killian Jones, ma'am."_

_She waved a careless hand, "Oh no need for ma'am. That makes me feel old. But I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new? Do you like it? How did you meet David?"_

_The rapid fire questions had him blinking, "Um, yeah, I'm new. Trying to get a job at the University here. And I like it alright, I suppose. And I met Dave here while he was tending bar. And.. yeah…" he finished lamely. _

_But the woman didn't seem to notice. "Oh that's wonderful! Storybrooke University is always in need of new professors. Welcome to the neighborhood!"_

_And before he could react, he was engulfed in a massive hug. At first he wasn't sure how to react, but the way her arms squeezed tightly, as if trying to imprint her welcome on his skin, had him slowly relaxing into her embrace, and the strange sort of calm that had settled over his heart in the bar after his breakdown seemed to warm and grow. _

_For some reason, as she pulled back from her earnest hug, Killian fancied he could almost see his brother standing next to David, arms crossed and his favorite smile tilting up his brother's lips._

_And in that moment, somehow he knew that everything was going to be alright. That somehow, he'd found home. _

Killian was brought back to the present when she pulled back, "Ok are you ready to take on the Red Mantle?"

He winced as he heard David chuckle, "Please don't say it like that darling. Makes it sound like something out of Game of Thrones."

"Well given you'll be sitting in the Christmas Throne, maybe it's appropriate," she shrugged.

David burst out into laughter at those words, Mary Margaret only chastising him "Oh be quiet David."

He continued to chuckle as Mary Margaret walked through the mall pop up "Santa's Workshop," taking in every detail. Because it had to be perfect. For the children.

_"Oh Killian!" _

_The sheer relief in Mary Margaret's tone had him standing up abruptly from the cafe table where he'd been working, immediately looking her over to make sure she wasn't injured. _

_"Are you alright?" He quickly reached out to grab her shoulders, unable to force down his worry. She, and David, had been the first friends he made in Storybrooke. Through thick and thin, through summer and finals, they had been by his side for the last four years. He wasn't sure how he would handle it if something happened to either one of them. _

_However, when she heard the urgency in his own voice, she immediately colored and gasped, "Oh! Sorry, I'm fine we're fine. Everything is fine. Well not everything but…"_

_He sighed in relief, then frowned in slight irritation, "What is the issue then lass, coming in here scaring a man half out of his mind?"_

_She blushed a little bit more, "Oh. Well it's just that David has come down with an awful case of the flu. He just hired a deputy, so he doesn't have to worry about work, but it's terrible! He can't dress up as Santa if he's sick!"_

_And suddenly everything clicked. Mary Margaret, of course, could give Feuzzywig a run for his money. And the idea that something could upset the perfect flow of her annual _Santa in Storybrooke_ booth that the mayor deigned to allow in city hall each December probably fell fairly close to serious bodily injury on the Mary Margaret panic scale. _

_And if David was sick and she was here in such a state, that could only mean-_

_"You just have to play Santa this year or everything is completely ruined!"_

_It took everything he had not to groan. He had managed to avoid getting roped into that whole crock of shite for the last four years, claiming that he was busy grading finals and or some other feasible excuse at being too busy. _

_But looking at her earnest expression, the glimmer of tears just starting to coalesce, he just could not find it in himself to deny her. He knew that he was her first choice after David because she knew him and trusted him with such a great responsibility. And he should be flattered that she was willing to put the Christmas responsibility on him. But he could not muster the proper amount of gratitude. _

_Because if he said yes to her, it would mean a full month of Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays from four to nine sitting in an upholstered torture device, forced to interact with people under the age of ten and their _charming_ parents. There was a reason he was trying to get tenure teaching at a _university_ after all. At least when your students are over the age of 18, you can guess that its either food, sex, or sleep that's on their mind at any given moment. And after 21, alcohol also joined the list. _

_Children were wild and unpredictable and spoilt. And more often than not, their parents were simpering incompetences who had decided to have children too early. He had no desire to associate with any of them. _

_But he knew, even before he looked down into her puppy dog green eyes, that he just couldn't tell her no. He was already mentally rearranging his schedule._

_"Aye, I suppose that means you'll need me to stand in for Dave then?"_

_"Oh would you?"_

_He sucked in a breath, mentally girding his metaphorical loins, as his literal loins were generally always gird, "Aye, I'm happy to help."_

"Okay, David know how this goes, but since you are doing this for the first time, I will give you a quick rundown of how this works. We'll have two elves helping keep people in line and entertain the children. They will also get the kids' names. Then once it's their turn, you'll give a big ho ho ho and invite them by name up to the platform to sit on your lap. You'll ask them what they want for Christmas, they tell you, you give a suitable response about being good and merry. Then one of the elves will say that she's taking a picture. You'll pose with a big smile, then send the child back to their parents and it's off to the next one! Sound good?"

There was nothing about what she had just said that sounded _good. _"Aye, sound like a grand time, Mary Margaret."

He hated children. He would never again ever let another child to exist in his general vicinity. After getting kneed one too many times in the nuts, had his suit sneezed on, had his lap urinated in, had children burst into tears while their parents told them that "everything was just fine. Be comfortable about being unwilling placed into the hands of a strange and creepy stranger" he was about to call it quits.

Today was the _first day._

But after he had changed out of the stifling fur suit he'd been in all evening, Mary Margaret came up to him, face still perfectly glittered, and there her arms around him, mumbling "You've saved Christmas Killian. You really have. Thank you" against his chest, he kept his cursing to himself. Because he was a giant pushover, apparently.

"You are more than welcome lass. Now what time do you want me here tomorrow?"


	2. Chapter 2

Killian peeled off the Santa jacket, wincing as his sweat soaked undershirt immediately chilled in the falling temperature of the mall bathroom, letting it fall to the floor with a disgustingly wet plop. A vicious shiver wracked his frame as he gingerly hooked his thumbs underneath the pants, trying his best to keep from touching them too much.

He had no idea how Mary Margaret could afford to send the blasted thing to the cleaners every day, but as his legs erupted into gooseflesh, he could only be glad that she was hyper aware of the many sins that those red pants were apparently privy to on a nightly basis. Otherwise he'd probably would have gone on strike.

He stepped out of the disgusting puddle of velvet and fur and grabbed his sweatpants, wincing slightly as he felt the fabric cling to lingering moisture on his legs. He desperately needed to take a shower.

Once he had pulled on his shirt as well, he pulled his phone out of his bag, turning it back on. While it powered up, he grabbed the large plastic bag and gingerly picked up the pieces of the costume to let them drop into the bag, forcing away the slight gag of disgust as he saw the wet patch the pile had left on the bathroom.

He was abruptly distracted from his contemplation of the fact that he had in fact been wearing that, when he heard his phone vibrate repeatedly. Incessantly.

"What the fuck?"

He dropped the plastic bag in favor of grabbing his phone to figure out what was going on. The screen was lit up as notification after notification popped up on his lock screen. The majority were emails, a couple Facebook Messenger notifications, and even a couple notifications from his barely used Instagram account. He could not figure out what was going on, so when a couple missed calls from Robin popped up, he ignored the continuing vibrating in favor of calling him.

As the phone rang, he pressed it to his ears to tie his shoes.

"Jones, 'bout bloody time."

Killian rolled his eyes, "Hello to you too mate."

"Stuff it Jones. Have you looked at your phone?"

"No, I just felt a disturbance in the force, and am now contacting you via telepathy."

"You are bloody hilarious. Seriously, did you look at anything on your phone?"

Killian'a brows furrowed as he picked up on the odd tone in his friend's voice, "No, I turned it on and it practically blew up. Saw you'd called, so I figured I'd start there."

"So you haven't heard the news then, have you?"

"News?"

"Yeah, it was announced in the evening edition of the Mirror today." Robin paused and Killian groaned, straightening from tightening his laces to hold the phone to his ear to ensure his head could role the adequate amount.

"Spare me your theatrics, mate. Get on with it."

Robin huffed out a laugh, "Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist. As I was saying, the Mirror published the article this evening. The city council has decided that, because it felt that Storybrooke was losing its festive spirit-"

Killian snorted.

"Hush up, this is fantastic news for you."

"Aye, you mean the citizens finding some sort of sanity in the Storybrooke small town madness?"

"Nice alliteration." Killian could practically hear his friend's eyebrow raising.

"Thank you, I try."

"Bloody hell, shut up you wanker. The city has decided that, to recapture the spirit of Storybrooke and encourage the populace to engage with the community, there will be a contest."

Robin fell into another dramatic pause, which Killian was supposed to be a significant one.

"If you don't get to the point I'm going to hang up so I can go home and wash the pee off my legs."

He had to pull the phone away from his ear as Robin's boisterous laughter rang out from the speaker. Despite his friend's boisterousness, Killian found himself running thin on patience. It took Robin a few more chuckles to settle before he sucked in what to Killian seemed may be have been a mildly apprehensive breath.

"It's been called the Christmas Light Extravaganza."

Killian muffled a yawn, his exhaustion suddenly settling over him, "And that matters to me because ...?"

"It's a Christmas light decorating contest."

It took Killian several moments to register the significance of the statement. And then it clicked.

"Bloody fuck."

"Yep," chirped Robin merrily. "And now Mr. Killian Jones is once again the hottest commodity in town. And not even for his ass this time."

That worked an exhausted laugh out of him, "That's a nice change of pace."

Robin scoffed, "Oh, shut up. You know you- are you headed to bed now Rolland?" Robin's voice drifted away, and Killian could just picture Robin dropping the phone away from his ear while he spoke to his son. While Killian would never tell him, there was always a tiny part of him that burned with jealousy whenever he heard Robin speaking oh so gently to his son. He knew it was absurd and he'd never begrudge it of Roland. But he envied the little boy of his upbringing, of the dedicated attention of his father, of the absolute assurance that he was loved.

There was a muffled murmur on the other end of the line before he heard, "I'm talking to Uncle Killian. Did you want to say good night?"

There was more muffled movement before he heard the small, soft voice of Robin's only child, "Night Unca Killy! Wov you!"

Killian's throat tightened, as it always did when he was faced with the young boy's unbridled love and affection, which, even now, he felt was unearned and undeserved. But he put aside his own hang ups.

"Good night mate. Love you too."

"I don wanna go ta bed."

Killian smiled, his heart warming, "Listen to your pa, lad. And I'll take you on me boat sometime soon, yeah?"

"I getta sail wid ya, Unca Killy?"

He smiled, but managed to make his voice stern, "Aye, but only if you go to bed like a good lad."

"Mkay Unka Killy!" the boy shouted, followed by more shouting and then the phone went quiet again. Then he heard a tired sigh that matched exactly how he was feeling.

"Thanks for that. It's a nightmare getting him to bed some nights."

Killian's smile was tired but not insincere. "Not a problem, mate."

Robin sighed again, "Right, now I've done my due diligence. You're on your own."

The phone went dead before Killian had a chance to reply.

Killian let out a sigh of his own as his hand dropped to his lap, his phone lighting up again as another couple notifications popped up. He looked down at them, not entirely sure how he was going to survive this holiday season.

_Killian stared down at the check in his hand, a wash of despair drowning him as the envelope fluttered to the table he was standing over while he reread the amount that was typed out on the front of it. He couldn't live off this. He could barely feed himself off this. _

_He flopped into the booth at the diner below where he was renting a room, Granny's. He was fortunate that Storybrooke, being the semi-backwater that it was, was not a hot tourist destination, despite being a college town, especially now that the October air had taken on a fierce bite. _

_He slammed the check face down on the formica table top before dropping his head to his hands. When he'd gotten the job offer from Storybrooke University, he thought he'd hit the jackpot. The university had offered him a discounted PhD program if he would come fill the suddenly vacated undergraduate astrophysics classes. So he had gladly packed up his life, happy to put Boston to his heel after all that had happened. _

_Unfortunately, what appeared to be his golden opportunity to restart his life quickly tarnished before his eyes. _

_When he arrived and went to the university to inquire about lodgings, they brusquely told him that they did not handle the housing of staff and that he was on his own. So after a few inquiries, he was readily directed to Granny's, the apparent sun around which the entire town revolved. _

_He awkwardly lugged his suitcase behind him into the dinner, awkwardly looking around as the entire afternoon rush came to a complete standstill, the entire population of the diner turning to stare at him. He cleared his throat, trying to force the burning in his face to dissipate. _

_"Erm, I'm searching for the proprietor of this fine establishment, if someone would be so kind as to point me there way." _

_He jumped when a testy voice called out, "She's right here. And them folks out there better get a move on and continue about their day if they know what's good for them!" _

_And suddenly, activity returned to the building, people talking and dishing clinking as they are served. He tentatively moved forward, towards where he thought the voice came from, and sure enough, a moment later a fierce looking woman, probably in her mid-seventies, came striding out from the kitchen door, her bifocals glinting in the overhead lights. _

_"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." _

_He felt his cheeks burning even more brightly as he fought down his mortification, hearing one or two of the nearby onlookers snickering quietly, and forced an easy smile onto his face. "Well, you aren't so bad yourself, miss." _

_The woman gave a loud scoff as she rolled her eyes, bustling forward as she muttered, "Stuff it lover boy. Save it for someone it'll work on." She stopped right in front of him, gave him a quick appraisal, then continued, "Looks like you'll be needing a room then. Come on." _

_Then just as abruptly as she'd appeared, the hurricane of a woman turned and marched towards the back of the diner. Killian struggled to get his luggage moving again, trying to make sure he didn't lose sight of the older woman. He hurried to the back, rounding the corner to a hallway, just managing to catch sight of the dignified bun and faded pink cardigan as it vanished from sight at the far end of the hall. _

_He rushed forward, cursing slightly as his carry-on started to slide off of his suitcase, spinning quickly to catch it before the whole bloody thing slid to the ground. After managing to right it, he hurried to the end of the hall and rounded the corner, abruptly entering what appeared to be an outdated foyer. The muted tones made the air feel heavy with dust, even though there seemed to be a lingering fragrance he could barely detect- it reminded him of laundry sheets. _

_He heard rummaging and walked further into the room, taking in an antique looking receptionist's desk and the woman bustling behind it, muttering as she seemed to be questingabout for something. It was just as he drew up to the front of the desk that he heard her give a quiet "aha" before she straightened, dropping a thick book down with a thud. Then she rummaged around the top of the desk a moment longer before she held up the pen with a satisfied huff. _

_She opened the book, licking a finger as she began to thumb through the pages, casting a critical look at him over the top of her glasses. "Well are you gonna tell me how long you'll be here or are you just going to stand there gaping like an idiot?" His mind abruptly caught up to the situation. It was a _bed _and breakfast after all. _

_He cleared his throat, scratching at his ear as he shuffled a bit closer to the counter, "I uh.. I'm actually not quite sure how long I'll be residing here." _

_A grey eyebrow crawled above the top of her spectacles, "You mean to tell me you have no idea how long you'll need a room for?" _

_He gave a little cough, "Well, I got a job at the uni, but when I went to find out about housing they tol-" _

_"Say no more!" He blinked in surprise as he took in the vicious scowl on the woman's face. "Gold, he's the one who's the so-called president of the university-" _

_"Aye, I'd heard of him." _

_"He's a right bastard and a nasty piece of work to boot. You just sit tight, and we'll get you all sorted. And you can call me Granny lover boy." _

_He smiled at her, feeling his spirit lift for the first time since he'd heard the news about his housing. "Killian Jones," he offered her his hand over the counter. When she reached out to shake it, he instead bent over and gave her a kiss to her knuckles, looking up at her from where he was slightly bent, sending her a cheeky smile. "And the pleasure is all mine." _

_But as he stared down at the check now, all the warmth that had come from his slightly unexpected and very amusing pseudo-adoption by the most cantankerous woman he'd ever met seemed to disappear. His room alone, which he knew Granny was already giving him a ridiculously generous rate on, would add up to more than what he'd earned in the last two weeks. _

_But he only had a moment to wallow in self-pity. Granny's "mother hen" sensors must have sensed it, because the next instant he heard a sharp "Now what's got your pantied in a twist, lover boy?" from right above him. _

_He jerked his head up to meet the fierce gaze of Granny as she glared down at him, as if his despair in her diner booth was offensive to her. He tried to muster his usual witty retort, but found that he couldn't come up with anything except a despondent sigh. "It would appear that I am going to have to bid your lovely establishment adieu for the present and seek out lodgings elsewhere." _

_Her perpetual frown deepened into a scowl, "And why in the hell would you be doing that, huh? Something wrong with this here 'establishment'?" _

_He scrubbed a hand over his face, sending a quick glance around to ensure that the nearby occupants of the diner were occupied. "Nothing whatsoever. It just appears that, for the time being, I will be unable to afford a room here, despite my desires to the contrary." _

_She continued to scowl down at him, her sharp eyes studying him over the top of her glasses. He did his best not to shift awkwardly in his seat under the force of her stare, before he dropped his eyes, unable to continue the staring contest any longer. _

_It was disgraceful. A grown man, not able to afford his own lodgings in a town so small it only showed up on a map because of its university and an ice cream shop. But with all his money tied up in investigating how his brother actually died, he didn't have a choice. _

_Her scoff drew his eyes back up to her, he face flushed in indignance. "Gold really is all manner of bastard. If he thinks that he can run my guests out because he's trying to store up enough money to compensate for how small his prick is, he has another thing coming." _

_Killian choked on his breath as he listened to the woman's muttered tirade, still trying to figure out what had just happened as she turned and marched off in a huff. _

_He gazed after her for a long moment before he just shook his head, slipping back into despondency, even as he reached into his satchel to pull out the papers he had to grade with a resigned sigh. Slowly, he fell into the rhythm of grading page after page of undergraduate essays, trying to get as many finished as he could before his synapses gave out. _

_He was abruptly yanked from that rhythm though, when he was hit squarely in the side of the head with a wet rag. _

_He jerked his head, trying to figure out who the hell had just thrown a wet willy at him. He got his answer a moment later when he heard Granny yell, "If you insist on staying here past closing every day, the least you can do is make yourself useful. Wipe down the tables, if you can stand to dirty your precious academic hands." _

_He looked back down at the rag, trying to understand what she was saying, even as he schooched himself out of the booth. But it wasn't until she called out again that he put together what she was doing. "Got to work, lover boy! You ain't earned a sweet night's sleep just yet." _

_He felt a tired grin tick up his lips as he grabbed the towel, making his way to the tables by the front window. _

_"Quick grinning like an idiot before I change my mind!" _

_He bit his lip to smother his smile as he bent to start wiping down the formica countertops. _

_And it progressed from there. Wiping down tables turned into doing dishes in the back after closing. And then helping Granny set up social media sites for the inn and diner for the tourist season. She was constantly coming up with mundane tasks for him to do. And she never once brought up payment for his room again. _

_It was because of her generosity that he had found himself at the Rabbit Hole, trying to drown his memories on the anniversary of Liam's death. And through his pity party, meeting David and Mary Margaret. _

_But his fortunes really changed when, as the weather turned, Granny shoved a box of Christmas decorations into his unexpecting arms. "You deal with this crap. Stupid holiday, making me decorate the damn inn when I've got so much…" her voice faded as she bustled back into the kitchen, leaving him with a box full of decorations. _

_So he took to the task with the same aplomb that he'd done all the other tasks, finding himself enjoying the art that stretching the lights and arranging the decor required while listening to the clatter of Granny doing the last of the dishes left from closing. _

_It was the morning after, when he was savoring a cup of coffee and the exclamations at the decorations as people came in, that changed everything. A hush fell over the diner as the mayor, Regina, deigned to grace the diner with her presence. She marched up to the counter to where Granny was working the cash register and spoke without preamble, "Who did your decorations?" _

_Killian winced and dropped his eyes, hoping to just disappear into the crowd. But he had no such luck. "Lover boy over there did it last night for me." _

_He looked up to see Granny pointing her pen at him while Regina regarded him in the same way he figured a scientist might study a sample. Then she nodded, "Are you for hire?" _

_"Beg your pardon?" _

_"Are you for hire? I want you to decorate my home. I don't have the time or patience, and I like your understated design." _

_Killian's eyes flicked over to Granny for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer, and caught the woman's eye. He was shocked to find a slightly triumphant smile and an expectant brow raised at him. _

_He looked back at Regina, "Oh, uh, aye. I think I'm your man." _

_And with that fateful response, Killian accidentally started his own business. Because as he decorated the mayor's massive mansion, passersby would inquire about his services. And by the end of that week, he had been commissioned to decorate several other houses in the town, each paying a tidy sum for his efforts. By the time Christmas week rolled around, he was able to give himself the gift of putting a deposit down on a cozy apartment that overlooked the harbor. Well, that and the mayor's very pointed recommendation to his landlord. _

_His fortunes continued to look up as the spring courses started and he was given twice as many classes as he'd had the first semester. He constantly found himself up to his ears in either grading or his own homework as he began his PhD in earnest. But he found a secondary stream of income as the suddenly most sought after decorator in Storybrooke. _

_He could admit that he both enjoyed the work and was quite good at it. But he had an inkling that the apparently sudden uptick in festivities around town had less to do with his talents and more to do with the fact that there were quite a number of housewives. _

_But by his second Christmas in Storybrooke, he barely had time to breathe. People were requesting his services in October, trying to get ahead of the rush. And thus was _By Your Lights _officially born. _

Killian staggered in his front door, barely registering where his bag, coat and shoes ended up. He barely managed to remember to plug in his phone before he just stripped and fell face first into bed, tempted to just sleep on top of the covers, until his skin finally cooled off and a massive shiver ripped through him, forcing him under his covers with a grumble.

The next morning, blessedly a Sunday, and therefore currently completely unoccupied, he indulged in several cups of coffee before he felt ready to check his email. Sure enough, Robin had been right. He had over fifty emails from various residents in town, trying to offer him the best opportunity. The mayor, the district attorney's wife, the school superintendent. He closed his eyes with a sigh as he let his phone drop the counter as he brought a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

This was not going to end well.

But even as he fell into despair at how to manage the situation, grateful as he was for the business, his phone started to ring. He opened his eyes to glance down at the caller ID, fully prepared to just ignore it. But he was shocked to see Mary Margaret's beaming face smiling up at him, he and David on either side of her, Santa hats set jauntily on both their heads as they both kissed her on the cheek. They'd taken it last Christmas, after all of Mary Margaret's guests had left and Ruby had insisted on breaking out the good whisky.

"What on earth are you doing up this early? Only the birds and meself usually grace this hour with our presence."

He heard her scoff, "I have no idea how you manage to talk like that on the best of days. But it isn't even eight yet. That's just abnormal."

He smiled but decided to cut to the chase. "So what can I do for you this fine Sunday morn?"

"I'm assuming you heard about the announcement?"

He rolled his eyes as he opted on another cup of coffee. "Oh aye, Robin was kind enough to enlighten me last evening. My bloody phone's been blowing up since last night."

"Yeah, about that…." she petered off.

He raised a brow as he grabbed the coffee pot, pouring himself another glass of ambrosia as he continued, "Out with it love. It's not like you to beat around the bush."

He could actually hear her wince, and he couldn't help the small chuckle as he put the pot back. "Yeah, well, I think I might have a way to remove the target that Sydney Glass so kindly painted on you."

"Thank fuck, 'cause I have no bloody idea how I can tell three quarters of these people no without getting run out of town."

He heard her tisk at his swearing, before she sucked in a breath, as if psyching herself up to say something. "Yeah, but it would mean that… well, it would mean that you wouldn't get any money this year. And I know how much you rely on the money you get from the season so it's really a terrible idea and I'm so sorry I suggested it and please ig-"

"Mary Margaret," he cut her off firmly, but not harshly. "Thank you for your concern, but I actually have no need of the additional income anymore. I just continue to do it because I truly enjoy it. So please don't concern yourself about that."

"Oh," she sighed, "okay then. If you're sure-"

"Aye I am."  
"Okay," he could see her nodding as her face went into "teacher mode" like it always did when she was trying to _get stuff done_. "In that case, I thought that the easiest way out of the whole situation is to completely disqualify yourself. Like say if they are planning on competing in the contest, they can't use professional help."

"Mary Margaret, if your husband wouldn't kill me if I tried, I'd kiss you right now."

She giggled quietly, "Maybe some other time."

He grinned as well before something occurred to him. "By the by, since I have you on the line and not scurrying off in an elf costume, how did your conversation with Regina go? Did you manage to convince the Evil Queen to find some holiday cheer?"

She scoffed, but then sighed quietly, "No unfortunately. I did the best I could. I even had a binder. But she just insisted that there was no wiggle room in the budget to sponsor the refurbishment of the playground."

"I'm sorry to hear that, love. I know how badly you wanted to be able to announce it before the little ones went on holiday."

"Yeah, well I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

His brow furrowed, "That doesn't sound like the Mary Margaret I know. Did something else happen?"

She was quiet for a moment, "Regina said a few things that got me thinking that maybe, my priorities are in the wrong place."

"Fuck Regina. What the hell does she know?"

"Well she is the mayor."

"Oh, aye and getting elected into a political office is an indication of intelligence these days is it?"

He heard her give a watery chuckle, "You make a good point there, Mr. Jones."

"Aye, I'm a learned man. Don't let the old sourpuss get to you, love. In all the years I've known you, you've never misplaced your priorities."

She laughed again, "You're right. I should just keep hoping. That's the best we can do. Who knows, maybe the Christmas Spirit skipped Regina to visit the rest of the town, and they will flood our booth with donations at the fair."

"That's the spirit, love! When is that again?"

"Oh! It's the weekend after next. Actually, do you have any ideas for the raffle? The restaurant that usually gives us vouchers hasn't gotten back to us and well, time's a ticking."

He cast his mind around, trying to think, "I'm sorry love nothing comes to mind." He heard her downcast sigh. "But don't fret love, between you, me, and the half a brain cell that is David," she laughed out loud at that and he smiled, "we'll come up with something spectacular. Something that the like charming denizens of Storybrooke have never seen before. Something everybody will want to get their hands on. Something so coveted they'd pay-"

He stopped abruptly, suddenly struck with inspiration. Regina may not have been touched by the Christmas Spirit, but it appeared it hadn't quite left town yet.

"Killian? Killian? Are you alright?" Mary Margaret's worried voice brought him from his revelation.

"Mary Margaret, I know exactly how we are going to get you your funding."

"You do?"

"Aye. Rob was right after all. Mine is the hottest piece of ass in town. I think that I should serve as adequate incentive."

"What do you mean?"

"Make me the raffle this year. Buy a ticket to put in the pot, and the winner gets my services, free of charge for this Christmas."

"Oh Killian!" He heard sniffles and was suddenly concerned she'd started crying. "That's perfect. That's just…. Oh my goodness, that's just wonderful! Oh! We could even change the name of the raffle!"

He couldn't help the glow of pride as he heard all Mry Margaret's usual vivacity return to her voice. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Well it's perfect. Instead of using your company name like you have it, we could change it."

"Change it to what?"

"_ Buy _Your Lights!"

He burst out into laughter, "Mary Margaret, that is bloody brilliant. Pun absolutely intended."


End file.
